Tag Archives: The Spirit

How are You? You must be excited, it’s almost Your birthday. Jesus, I have a favour to ask. I won’t lie, I’m not entirely Christian, but if You could help me out a little bit, I promise I’ll try really hard to believe in You. Could You please kill Michael Clarke? Actually, that might not be the way You do things. Could You please permanently incapacitate him? I’m not really fussy about how You do it (although painfully would be nice). Cut off his hands, rip out his spine, disembowel the motherfucker, whatever works for You, Jesus. I know that when You were ‘alive’ You preached love and understanding and forgiveness and all that, but Jesus, over the past 12 months the prick averages 55.36 when Australia wins. Now, I know You’re thinking that this is hardly a reason to go Predator on the guy, but over the same period he averages 24.6 when Australia lose and 9 when we draw. Does this strike You as the performance you need from your ‘captain in waiting’ (we’ll talk about this at a later date) number 4? Plus, Jesus, he walked out to bat yesterday with his team 2/17 and played a tentative, wafting, nothing-really kind of airy-fairy ‘shot’ and was caught behind. We needed and deserved more from him then. Some people around the traps have been saying he needs to get back with Bingle (I won’t fill You in, Jesus, because I know how You feel about fidelity), but he was useless before Bingle, during Bingle and after Bingle, so that’s not the solution. No, I’m afraid Jesus, that the only option left to You is to take drastic measures. Australia are about to enter a rebuilding phase (let’s face it, we have no other choice), and we need men. Tough men. Steve Waugh stone cold stare of stainless steel tough. Not Michael “I’m a fucking soft prick” Clarke. It seems he’s untouchable when it comes to selection, so the only option left is for Your Divine Intervention.

I’ve considered jumping into the blogging game for ages now, but a combination of laziness, lack of time and post-Ashes depression have so far conspired to prevent me starting. Plus there’s the fact I’ve never written a blog before, I’m 99.94% certain no one will ever read it, and I just started a PhD. So, let’s just see how this goes.

Anyway. Now that I’ve established all that, me. Yes, it is richie as in Richie ‘the great man’ Benaud. When I was younger, I drove my family nuts every summer with my incredible cricket knowledge. They were so jealous. The standard response became “Thanks for that rich”, and seeing as how my family thought I had a slight tendency towards being a know-it-all, not just with things cricket-related, the response was pretty common. Now, saying I’m a bit of a know-it-all is like saying the Pope is a bit Catholic, so the nickname just stuck. I’m Australian. I’m a girl. 25. Scientist, doing a PhD. My cricket career is limited to receiving a Shane Warne Learn to Spin Ball for Christmas when I was a kid.

Anyway, I want to give my own Preamble on the Spirit of the Game. The first time the phrase impacted on me was after the 2005 Ashes. We’re all familiar with the image of the series.

The birth of the Spirit?

After this, everyone thought England regaining the Ashes was good for cricket, and that the game can be played in a gentlemanly and germane way. Cricket Australia drafted their own formal strategic plan. Sure, people may have liked us a little more. Personally, I don’t think they did. Or do. They still hate us, we’re still Australian.

But more importantly, the Australian players all got together and decided to play nicely. To adhere to the Spirit of the Game. And what was the result of this determination to be loved?

Little Andy had dreamt of this moment all of his life. He just wished he didn't have Monty Panesar to thank for it

So now everybody hates us and we don’t even have the Ashes to console us. So, with 237 days until the battle recommences, I say our priorities shouldn’t be ensuring balance in our bowling attack, buckets of runs from our batting, cunning with our captaincy or finesse with our fielding, but, rather, hardening the fuck up.